Breaking Point
by luvingbtr
Summary: No wonder so many girls hate me. I hate myself. Am I that obese? I haven't eaten in days. I just…I can't do it anymore. I can't take it anymore. It fucking hurts. It hurts so much. But, before you judge me, step into my shoes. Try that. Because quite honestly, it's not nearly as easy as it looks. If it were, would all five of us be so broken?


**So, I recently started to like One Direction, and I had this idea, and yeah, this is what it turned out to be. My friend, who's a complete Directioner, helped me out a lot, so, yeah, enjoy. **

* * *

I stick two fingers down my throat, hitting my gag reflex. In a matter of moments, everything I've just eaten comes back up, splashing into the toilet water. If you're thinking I just made myself throw up, you're absolutely right. It's no secret that I love food. And because of it, I've turned into a fatass pig. I don't know how I didn't realize this earlier. I love food so much, I didn't realize I how much I was eating. I never realized how ugly I am, what with my braces, and Irish accent. No wonder so many girls hate me. I _hate _myself.

The fact that I'm overweight isn't the only thing. I'm just a horrible person in general. There's so many things wrong with me…I can't even begin to list them. I just…life's fucking horrible, you know? I don't seem like the type of person to make themselves throw up, do I? Good. That's what I've been aiming for. None of you know my real self. How I am on the inside. The outside is just a mask. A fake smile. Me, pretending to enjoy myself. Pretending to be happy. And you know what? I do it on purpose.

Oh yeah. I forgot. I cut myself. Not daily or anything. Just when I'm feeling extra horrible. The pain, and seeing the crimson blood on my skin, helps me to forget about my shitty life. Being 1/5 of one of the most popular bands in the world isn't all that. It's a lot of work, and I just…I feel so unimportant. I don't get many solos. Is it because I'm a horrid singer? Or because the fans prefer Zayn, Harry, or Liam? You'll notice I forgot Louis. He doesn't get many either, but at least he's _heard_ during the chorus'. I'm always drowned out by Harry or Liam. It just…it hurts, okay?! I'm sorry I have fucking emotions.

I'm gonna shut up now. I'm probably wasting your time, and I'm sorry for that. I'm just a waste of space. I wish someone would just shoot me in the fucking head. Whoops, ranting again. Sorry. Anyways, you probably wanna know my name. If you care, that is. It's Niall. Niall Horan. I'm Niall, and I've been bulimic, and cutting for the past three months.

* * *

I stare at my reflection in the mirror, as tears stream down my cheeks. Am I _that _obese? I haven't eaten in days. Well, that's not exactly true. I've had a lot of water, one or two bananas, maybe some other crap. Just to keep me alive. I know that people can die without food. Though I'm just staying alive for the band. No one cares about me anymore. If I wasn't in the band, I would've probably killed myself a while back. There's just so much emotional pain. And I'm too weak to handle it.

I just…I can't do it anymore. Sure, I'm the "pretty boy" of One Direction. I'm the one that most girls fall head over heels for. But, there are some girls that think I'm fat and all I do is take away Louis' and Niall's solos. I'm sorry, okay?! I don't choose what I sing! I can't control that! I can control my body, but I can't control what I sing and what solos I have! I'm sorry! Don't hate me because of it! I try to tell them that I don't want any solos, but I get them anyway! I'm not lying! I try, I swear on my life I do!

I'm sorry. That wasn't supposed to happen. I didn't mean to go off on you like that, please bear with me for what else I have to say. I just…it frustrates me. Now, back to what I _can _control. I weigh 128 pounds. My goal is to be less than 100. Maybe then…then…people will start caring about my emotions and how I feel. Because right now, I feel like a worthless, useless, complete waste of space. I never should've been born.

You never thought something like this would happen to someone so happy, did you? Well, it's happening. I'm not happy. I'm not enjoying life like I should. Every day brings more pain, and my suicidal thoughts grow stronger. I'm trying to control it, I swear. My name? Oh, I'm Harry. Harry Styles. And I've been anorexic for the past three months.

* * *

I slice my wrist once more, not even flinching as pain shoots through my arm. I'm used to it by now. I've been doing this long enough. Why? Because I can't do this anymore. I'm so depressed, so broken. It feels like the walls are closing in. Like I can't control anything anymore. I just watch, as my life gets shittier and shittier, day by day. You may be wondering why I'm such a mess, when I'm 1/5 of One Direction. Hate. I get so much hate, whether it's my singing, or my tattoos, or how I'm biracial. I'm just so done. I can't take it anymore. It fucking hurts. It hurts so much.

The cuts on my wrist are my only escape. I count down the minutes until I can lock myself in my bathroom, and slide the razor across my arm. I may sound emo and weird, but at this point, I've stopped caring. This has become an addiction to me. I _need _to feel that pain. Physical pain helps me forget about the emotional trauma raging inside my body. I guess…you could also say, I don't eat enough. I mean, I don't eat as much as I'm supposed to. And I do it on purpose.

I don't think I'm anorexic, I just starve myself occasionally. It's another way to torture myself, and that's a good thing. Again, you may be thinking, emo and weird, but I feel I deserve it. I deserve pain. I deserve to fucking die. I cause everyone pain. Niall hates me. Liam hates me. Louis hates me. Harry hates me. And, Paul hates me. Hell, I bet Simon hates me. I'm just a useless fuck-up that should kill himself.

Name? Oh yeah. I'm Zayn. Zayn Malik. I think that's all I have to say, I'm sorry if I took up your time. Don't worry about me. I'll be fine. After all, my emotions have become least priority these days. I don't deserve your worrying. Please, just don't. Don't you dare worry about me. I'll be fine. If you care, that is. If you don't, don't be offended. That's one more to add to the ever-growing list.

* * *

Shit. I've cut too deep. I scramble to grab paper towels, and put pressure on my wrist. I've done this before. When you're as broken as I am, cutting to deep is inevitable. I hurt. I hurt so much inside. Everything hurts, and I don't think anyone cares. All they do is hurt me even more. Every day, I see those hate comments on Twitter or Facebook, and I just…my razor takes over. I'm sorry, guys. I'm sorry that I'm not perfect. I'm sorry that I can't be what you want me to be. I'm so sorry.

I'm trying, believe me, I am. I don't eat much at all. I'm trying to make myself thin. I know I'm fat, thanks to you all. I don't blame you, if that's what you're thinking. Thank you for opening my eyes. I know now why so many of you hate me. I know now why I don't get many solos. I know now why I'm probably the most hated member in One Direction. What I don't know, is why I even try anymore. I'll never be good enough for you guys, so why bother?

I've lost the one person that can save me from the dark. My brother. Harry's basically gone. We don't talk anymore. I need him. He's always been there to listen. He's gone now, and I feel that void. I feel so empty inside. It hurts. I need my Hazza. I'm sounding clingy, I'm sorry. I'll try to work on that. It's just…Harry's saved me before, and I've saved him. I need him, though I doubt he needs me. He was probably just pretending to care. After all, that's what everyone does these days. Pretends to care, then stabs you in the back. I've gotten stabbed so many times, if it was literal, I'd be dead.

I know I'm not the most popular guy in One Direction. I know I can't sing. I know I'm overweight. I'm sorry. I know I'm horrible. Please, just…let me die. Let me rid this world of such a horrible person. You'll see instantly how much happier it makes everyone. Oh yeah. I forgot the most important part. My name. I'm Louis. Louis Tomlinson. And I've been cutting myself, while starving myself, for three months.

* * *

My arm's bleeding. And for some reason, I make no move to staunch the flow of crimson. I wish I could just bleed out, until I die. I'm just so freakin' _done._ I've tried my best to hold on, I just…_can't_ anymore. I don't know exactly what happened, what caused this, but it hurts so much. Life's not worth living. All it does is cause a hell of a lot of pain. Ironic, isn't it, that my last name is pronounced, 'pain'? Liam Pain. Sounds accurate. I'm Liam, and I'm in a crapload of pain.

I'm apparently 'Daddy Direction'. The leader/sensible one of the band. And guess what? I've fucking _failed._ It's my job to make sure my friends/brothers are okay, and doing well, and help them as much as I can if they're struggling. Well, all four of them are breaking. I can see it. And I haven't been able to do anything about it. Great leader, aren't I? I know I'm a shit leader, you don't have to reiterate it. You don't need to break my heart even more.

Cutting is the only thing I can control anymore. I can control what I do to my body. I can't control my brothers' emotions, nor can I control the opinions of the fans. I see their Twitters and Facebooks. The hate they receive is absolutely horrid. They don't deserve to be berated and belittled like they are. It's not like I'm not receiving hate, as well. I try not to let it bother me, but it honestly makes me want to crawl up in a hole and die. I'm just done.

If you didn't catch my name, here it is again. Liam. Liam Payne. I'm sorry, if I wasted your time with my useless ranting. I won't do it again. But, before you judge me, step into my shoes. Try that. Because quite honestly, it's not nearly as easy as it looks. If it were, would all five of us be so broken?


End file.
